


To call back Night

by bookoftheazuresky



Series: star followed star [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fortunately Sunstorm is radioactive, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Saying no to Megatron can be hazardous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookoftheazuresky/pseuds/bookoftheazuresky
Summary: Sunstorm finally says no to Megatron. It's a good thing he wasn't expecting enforcing his boundaries to be easy.





	To call back Night

The rest of the deployment was conducted with glacial, hostile professionalism on Sunstorm’s part and silent submission on the part of his trinemates. Even Skywarp didn’t try anything more than a tentative overture at conversation, and was sharply rebuffed.

Sunstorm recognized that he would have to do something about his trine, preferably before this started affecting wing cohesion, but making a decision while he was still too angry to process straight would be foolish. With a perverse masochism he’d never suspected in himself, he’d read through Deadlock’s gift until it brought only a dented and distant numbness. If nothing else, the emotional exhaustion reduced his temper to a low simmer waiting for fuel.

~

It disturbed Sunstorm how normal it was to receive Megatron’s preemptory summons upon landing at the sector base. It was also deeply irritating, because Sunstorm was in the middle of a three-way argument with Fleet Supply and Engineering regarding repairs on the _Harbinger’s_ engines, which would need to be completed before the warship could be deployed again, and he would rather get the whole thing finished as soon as possible. He sent a message to that effect to Megatron and went to find the base quartermaster and supply officer instead.

He had responsibilities, he told himself, rather than admit to his avoidance. Besides, he had no real idea of what the confrontation- for confrontation it would be- was going to be like, what he wanted to say.

Fortunately- or unfortunately- once he got ahold of the quartermaster, the issue of the necessary parts proved to be swiftly resolved. Sunstorm had never considered himself a coward, but retreat and avoidance looked very attractive now. Prior experience had taught him that such a strategy only worked for so long while still maintaining plausible deniability, but it was so tempting. Apparently, he was more like Thundercracker than he had thought.

“I hate it,” Sunstorm said, tucking his wings defensively against the wall of the empty corridor and wrapping his arms around himself. Finally letting himself articulate the feeling that had bloomed darkly in his spark, the result of twenty-four hundred vorns as Megatron’s _toy_. Not _partner,_ not _lover_ , because those implied reciprocity, a concern for the other person’s feelings and desires. Megatron didn’t care if he was depressed or tired or even _injured_ , just that he got what he wanted. In fact, Sunstorm had a black and lurking suspicion that Megatron _enjoyed_ it when he was in pain while interfacing. Why else would an interfacing session be almost guaranteed to follow whenever he decided to ‘remonstrate’ with some bit of Sunstorm’s actions?

A message inquiring into his progress appeared on his comm. Sunstorm shuttered his optics- he’d hoped that Megatron would have decided to recharge by now, but apparently not. “Not when his _toy_ is available,” Sunstorm muttered bitterly. He traced one of the seams in his arm with a claw, internally debating.

“Begin as you mean to go on,” he told himself finally. If he wanted the initiative, he had to _take_ it. Besides, knowing what he did now made it unlikely that he could fake even his usual passive acceptance of Megatron’s advances. Not to mention the gossip that would even now be circulating around the base about his hostility towards his trine. If it reached the right audials before he was ready…

He didn’t bother to return the comm, just willed himself to move.

~

“ _There_ you are,” Megatron greeted him upon his entry to the commander’s quarters. The gold seeker, privately calculating escape routes should this go bad, was once more relieved that he had never gotten out of the habit of taking trine officer quarters in the Air Force’s building. Proximity after this would be a nightmare. “All issues resolved, I trust?”

Sunstorm firmly quashed the urge to see if his plasma sword would fit as neatly as his tactical suite said it would in the gap between the gray mech’s helm and collar fairings, bared as if in offering by the relaxed seated position and turned back. It was an actual effort to wrestle his systems into submission- his earlier realization had dropped Megatron squarely into the ‘hostile’ category. A few seconds of hacking and he was able to reclassify that to ‘allied: hostile,’ the category reserved for members of his own faction that were inimical and needed watching but should not be fired on first.

“The _Harbinger_ will be available for deployment on schedule.”

“Excellent. You are as efficient as ever.” Sunstorm judged from the color that the cube in Megatron’s hand was engex, and pursed his lips to keep from frowning. He really didn’t need to be doing this with someone who was overcharged. “Surely it could have waited until on-cycle tomorrow, however?” The larger mech adjusted his sprawl and offered a black hand in an unspoken order for Sunstorm to come to him.

Ignoring it, Sunstorm said, “The sooner the parts are delivered, the sooner repairs can be completed.”

“True,” Megatron conceded. Patience apparently gone, he crooked his fingers and ordered directly, “Come here.”

Sunstorm considered for a moment, then answered, “No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Sunstorm considered repeating himself, but instead asked, with deliberate casualness, “Was it your intention all along to replace Starscream, and that was why you killed him? Or did you decide to have me built later?”

“Excuse me?” That apparently warranted Megatron’s full attention- he set the cube down and stood.

“I _asked_ why you decided to have me built.” The expression on Megatron’s face was incredulous, with a swiftly growing edge of anger. “But I can surmise that you decided afterwards. If you had intended on replacing Starscream from the beginning, the project would have been started before you killed him.”

Megatron made as if to grab him. Sunstorm evaded warily, giving ground. He pulled up a schematic of the room to keep from being cornered. “Who spoke to you about this?” Megatron asked, low.

“Shockwave,” Sunstorm lied easily, uncaring of whether it was plausible or not. The important part was having the answer ready. “Or rather, his computers. I suppose he didn’t think I would go looking.”

Megatron didn’t look as if he necessarily believed that, but visibly dismissed the line of questioning. “My dear,” he began placatingly.

_That_ dredged up a bitter smile. “Are you going to get my designation right this time?”

If Sunstorm had been expecting it, he could have avoided the backhand, or at least braced for the impact. He felt optic glass crack with a starburst of pain and slammed his helm into the low table where Megatron had left his cube on the way down.

The ringing in his audials and the spark of pain when he tried to online his optics told him that he’d hit the table _exactly_ wrong. His rattled processor fed him white noise and static and he nearly purged when his gyros told him he was being moved.

“-didn’t mean it,” glitched into his audio feed as it reset. A big hand supported his neck and the other gripped his waist. “-can’t…sorry…hear me?”

Processor threads aligned with glacial slowness.

“Why do you always do this? I don’t _want_ to hurt you, Starscream, but you always have to keep _pushing_.” Blunt fingers touched the dent in his cheek, then his wet and stinging optic. Sunstorm twitched away as much as he could, his tank and head and processor all protesting the movement.

“Still functioning.” The relief and affection in Megatron’s voice didn’t make Sunstorm any less nauseous. “Well, your tenacity is something I’ve always liked about you, Starscream.”

His optic feed _finally_ came on, with clarity hard on its heels. Sunstorm slapped a hand to the Decepticon symbol on Megatron’s chest and called fire.

The bigger mech hissed and dropped him, provoking a yelp. He didn’t let it interfere with his grip on his outlier ability, getting one leg under him and staring Megatron in the face.

“My _designation_ ,” Sunstorm said venomously, “is _Sunstorm.”_ The seeker staggered to his pedes, still dripping golden flames, then took several unsteady steps sideways, slapped the door controls and escaped.

He kept his hand over his cracked and leaking optic and skated down several halls on his antigravs, making random turns until he could bear to settle on his shaky legs once more. His rattled processor, dented face, and broken optic all added their own notes of pain to the cacophony of his thoughts. And to the potent mix of fear, shame, and rage that made his spark stutter behind his cockpit glass.

Sunstorm vented, then looked down at his free hand. Flakes of black stuck to the white. He clenched his fingers, blocking the markings from view. Fear was ebbing, leaving more room for the hot flare of wrath.

No. He’d said it, and he’d meant it, and he had the power to back it up. The resolution had crystallized when he’d reiterated his own identity: he was Megatron’s Air Commander, not his berthwarmer. And unlike his predecessor, Sunstorm’s outlier ability made outright rape almost certainly fatal.

Sunstorm shuddered at the thought, plating rattling as his face throbbed. He would have said it wouldn’t come to that, but certainty had cracked and drained away.

There was something not right in Megatron’s processor. Something that had made him commission a replacement for Starscream. He’d taken Sunstorm to berth immediately after their first meeting and treated it like a continuation of the previous relationship with a dead mech, petting and praising and beating by turns. He’d promoted Sunstorm beyond his experience and draped responsibilities over his shoulders. He’d given Sunstorm Starscream’s _trine._ He’d- he’d picked Sunstorm off the floor of his quarters, and apologized to _Starscream_ that he hadn’t- hadn’t meant it-

The young seeker hyperventilated, on the verge of hysteria. It was too much all at once.

The new tears sent a spark of pain through his broken optic, and his combat programming kicked on in a wash of clarity to dampen the sensation. With his tactical suite running, it was easier to get control of himself, take a mental step back.

Usually, Sunstorm dealt with any injuries Megatron gave him by himself, or with the help of Thundercracker and Skywarp (who were so very unsurprised, even from the first, at his injuries).

But you know what? Frag that. Why should Sunstorm bother with amateur first aid? If there was someone who should be feeling ashamed about Sunstorm’s injuries, it wasn’t Sunstorm. He was done. Megatron was never going to touch him again. Sunstorm would be happy to enforce it with radiation burns if necessary. With _violence_ if necessary.

Sunstorm exvented for a last time, pulling both of his hands down. Medbay, then back to his quarters. And he had some long-overdue conversations he needed to have with his trinemates. About the past, and also about what they were going to do now.


End file.
